


The Only God I Pray To

by Myusernameisineffable



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anorexia, Bulimia, Character Study, Eating Disorders, Food Issues, Friendship/Love, Hurt No Comfort, Post-Canon, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26917453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myusernameisineffable/pseuds/Myusernameisineffable
Summary: Crowley’s food issues post-Armageddon’t.  A short one-shot eating disorder (not graphic) fic because I apparently love giving my faves ED’s.  No real slash, but some developing relationship stuff between the best celestial couple ever, Aziraphale and Crowley.  I’m bad at summaries.  Not related to my WIP, this is a stand-alone fic.
Kudos: 18





	The Only God I Pray To

**Author's Note:**

> It’s been a busy few months, have been meaning to get back to the loooong WIP I have, but because I’m not up to tackling that right now wanted to write a quick one-shot fic. Yes, it’s about eating disorders because all my fics are... my primary reason for writing fic is to impose my own issues onto characters I love (mostly to work through my own issues in a therapeutic way, but also a little just so I don’t feel so alone. I kind of want to believe that characters I like could relate to my struggles even though that sounds weird and awful).
> 
> TW: heed tags, nothing graphic but subject matter is eating disorder related.
> 
> *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In truth, Crowley had come to dread their dates at the Ritz (which had become more frequent since the apocalypse had been averted and their respective ‘sides’ had mostly left them alone). But, it was impossible for him to say no to Aziraphale. One coquettish bat of those ocean blue eyes and Crowley would have granted that angel the world.

The problem wasn’t with Aziraphale, Crowley cherished every second spent with his friend. His partner? Although neither of them had yet ventured to give their friendship another name, he hoped the angel felt the same way he did. That their relationship had changed, become what it always should have been, in light of their newfound freedom.

The problem lay in the more tumultuous relationship of Crowley’s life... his relationship with food. Crowley largely avoided eating when he was alone, and had gone for months, even years at times without consuming anything at all. In theory, this was possible for a demonic entity, but after so many years of living on earth and wearing a human corporation, the body itself begins to realize that this pattern is abnormal. His corporation would sometimes lose a little weight, or develop deep bags under the eyes, and eventually he’d look exhausted and gaunt when he’d gone too long without food. And, every time he had shown up to meet the angel looking less-than-healthy over the years, he had gotten an earful about it from Aziraphale.

Until recently it had been pretty easy to hide, however. Meeting only once every few centuries had made it easy to pass off excuses like “I’m not very hungry” or “I already ate recently”. Heck, with the infrequency of their meetings (dates? Crowley had never been quite certain) he’d even at times been willing to eat with Aziraphale without prompting, knowing he wouldn’t likely be asked to do so again for many years to come.

Now that they were meeting more frequently however, and always somewhere involving food (at Aziraphale’s behest), it was getting harder to hide his discomfort on the subject. Aziraphale would frown on the days when Crowley refused to order anything at all, which was most days. The angel would purposefully order extra food, so that he could try to persuade Crowley to take bites of his entree, or to split the appetizers with him. The angel repeatedly fretted that Crowley was ‘too thin’ and ‘looked tired’ and ‘needed to take better care of himself’.

Crowley knew Aziraphale meant well, the angel was only trying to help. And, Crowley loved Aziraphale for trying. It was sweet, but it wasn’t helpful in the slightest. In fact, quite the opposite, it only served to make Crowley more uncomfortable. 

Crowley desperately wanted Aziraphale to just ignore it. To leave him be. Crowley wanted to watch Aziraphale eat his meal in peace, and enjoy the time spent with his angel simply by being in his presence. Crowley had no desire to eat, and his eating habits (or lack thereof) were his own business anyway. He felt he should be allowed to eat (or not eat) however he wanted, it was his stupid corporation and he should have the right to control it.

He was a demon, but not just any demon. Many demons, like Hastur and Ligur, had always been demons. They were created as demons and that was all they’d known. They were where they should be, and so they were not bothered by their position. But Crowley was different. He’d once been an angel. He’d been worthy, and good. Crowley still thought of himself as good, mostly. Or, at least, he didn’t think of himself as “bad”, per se. But he knew in no uncertain terms that he was no longer ‘worthy’.

He didn’t need Aziraphale’s worried nagging about him being underweight. He didn’t want to feel guilted into eating bites and halves of things Aziraphale would pleadingly offer him. Crowley knew he wasn’t “fat”, and didn’t really have the type of skewed body image one might expect from a being with similarly disordered eating habits. He even accepted that by mortal standards he was probably a bit too thin. But honestly, that part of it didn’t matter to him the way it seemed to matter to humans. When you’ve been around for the whole of humanity, you’ve seen every body type and trend come and go, beauty standards among mortals are so transient that it hardly made sense to worry too much about those types of things.

Crowley just hated the way food felt in his stomach. Every time he ate it felt like some kind of failure. Like the food (and any resulting superfluous pounds) didn’t just physically weigh him down, but metaphorically made him feel the weight of his fall, the weight of his suffering and pain, that much more tangibly. There was a numbness to being empty, as though the pain of hunger in his annoyingly human stomach helped distract him from the permanent pain and turmoil of his existence. Somehow refusing food gave him a sense of strength, like if he had power over the urges that came with these frankly irritating human forms, that he somehow could have power over anything, even the damnation that still haunted him.

But, if one thing in the world was true it was that saying no to Aziraphale’s sweetly open face was near impossible. So, when the angel offered a bite of fois gras, or a skewer of kebab, or to split a devils food cake, Crowley dutifully accepted. For centuries Crowley had been happy to just avoid food, he preferred simply not to deal with it, if at all possible. But, needs must, and he’d learned to adapt in order to keep his angel happy. Anything for his angel, he told himself, as he prayed Aziraphale would never learn the truth. 

Truth was, he’d developed a new habit in the wake of the apocalypse, and in response to their more frequent meetings. And so, after they parted ways (the first few times with a wave, then with a handshake, and most recently with a hug), Crowley slinked off to the lavatory and shoved his long slender fingers as far back into his throat as they would go, making himself heave and hurl until he was empty again. Crowley hated this new pattern, but saw no other way to keep his angel happy while maintaining his sanity (and, to a lesser extent, his figure). So, after each date (yes, he decided, date was the right word) he quickly made a sacrifice to the only god he prayed to anymore, the porcelain god.


End file.
